L'Etoile Noire
by soirblanche
Summary: Loki is sent to a mental asylum on Earth, as Odin hopes that Midgardian therapy will restore Loki's mind. Cordelia, a recent patient of the hospital, also hails from Asgard, and remembers Loki from a chance encounter long ago. Once their paths cross again, feelings will flare, tensions will rise, and life as they both know it will change.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, sadly!**_  
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* * *

_The fire engulfed the beach side home in a passionate mélange of sunset fused color; the wood rotted black, and the Japanese cherry blossom tree in the front yard withered with the force of the splenetic heat, which was never stopping in its conquest; swallowing any prey, whether it be the portrait hanging above the marble fireplace in the once ornate living room, or the missing portraits of long ago, trapped inside the closet located in the bedroom that no one bothered to look in._

_As the tides swelled, and the moon cried bitter rays upon the dissipating house, a shadow was seen, running across the golden plains of sand._

* * *

"We've got her," Agent Hill stated, swinging into the dimly lit cavern that was Fury's office; he stood with his back to her, peering down at an unsettling array of documents splashed across his desk.

"Was there any fight?" he asked.

"Of course. But, our men got it under control in fair time."

"You do realize that we've been looking for her for over _seven _years, and we've _finally _found her?"

"Yes. It's been a while. But, at least we've accomplished the primary goal."

Fury swiveled around then, a finger tapping his chin contemplatively. "Where is she from, exactly?"

"We don't know," Agent Hill shrugged, "But we found her on the coast of New Jersey. She's got that look in her eyes…the…the…"

"That I-ain't-from-your-world look, am I correct, agent?"

"Precisely. Although we can't be too sure."

"The newest crater landed in Arizona, about seven years ago. Since then, we've experienced crazy-ass frequencies in our radar that only one of _them _could have produced."

"Like when Loki arrived," Agent Hill said.

"Yeah. Apparently Asgard, or whatever that place is called, thinks Earth suitable for its rejects."

"Maybe. But not entirely. We've had the help of Thor, who's a formidable ally."

"True. But we've also experienced an influx of creatures who sure as hell ain't our 'allies.'"

She sighed, and leaned back on a dark gray chest of drawers, her elbows propped up on the cool metal. "You're right. But we were bound to come in contact with them at some point or another."

"Of course," he said, shaking his head. "How's the girl doing, anyway?"

"We've transferred her to the Auxilium. She hasn't said a single word."

"Funny. Just like our buddy who just landed his ass in there the prior week," Fury said.

"He was on that fire planet for a while, but, I guess they don't have psychotherapy there," Agent Hill said.

"Both of them seem to love playing with fire," Fury mused.

"I don't think Loki had the best time on that planet, so, I think she's the only one who receives gratification from that," Agent Hill pointed out.

"I don't get _why, _it's dangerous, and quite frankly, stupid," Fury said.

"Hey, we are not her therapists, it's not up to us to analyze why," Agent Hill replied.

They were quiet for a moment, thinking about the perplexity of the situation which had been thrust upon them.

"Do you think she'll cooperate?" Agent Hill asked.

"Not at first," Fury replied, "But in time, I'm sure that she will." He grabbed a shiny set of keys out of his pocket, and made for the doorway.

"Sir, where are you going?" she asked.

"To the Auxilium. I want to see how our guest is doing."

* * *

"For Pete's sake, woman, are you _retarded?!_"

The woman sitting in the scoop of an ebony chair merely raised an eyebrow at the outrageous allegation. The agent she had been cooped up with since the moment of her capture had been trying to scrape answers out of her with a series of far too personal questions, and she simply wasn't having it. In return, his anger was building on a generous scale, because he was used to spitting out questions at rapid fire, and having the recipient answer back dutifully.

"You know what?" the agent growled, and then stepped closer to her, "I'm glad they're locking you up. Freaks like you shouldn't be on the loose."

She gave him a dim smile.

"Oh, so you _can _smile," he rasped. "A lobotomy could change that."

She didn't respond.

"So…your name's Cordelia, is that correct?"

_You've already stated this fifty times you stupid fucking asshole_

"Do you mind if I call you Lia?"

"My father used to call me Lia," she said, finally. Those were the first words she'd spoken in over forty eight hours.

"Oh?" he grinned, satisfied that she was _finally _talking.

"And I _hated _my father," she snapped, nostrils flared, her eyes burning holes through the agent's skull. Her hands rattled in the cuffs as she bent forward slightly, sweat trickling down her spine.

The pallor of his skin paled considerably. "You're a vengeful, hateful person, you know that, right?!"

She grinned, and leaned back into the chair, satiated.

"So, _Lia, _can you tell me why you dyed your hair that vulgar hue of blue?"

She simply stared back at him.

"I thought you liked fire, _Lia, _wouldn't you dye your hair red instead? Or are you so fucking retarded that you dyed your hair _blue?" _

"Blue flame is hotter than red," she said flatly.

"Ah, so you speak again, _Li-_"

She shot up out of the chair, and kicked him sharply in the shin. Crying out from the sneak attack, he clunked to his knees, and she popped him sharply on top of the head with her metal cuffs. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"You need to shut the fuck up," she spat at the body curled up on the floor, and dug her heel into his ribcage for extra measure.

Of course, her efforts were all in vain, as the door burst open, revealing a man with an eye patch stretched across his face, swathed in a black, ominous trenchcoat, followed by three more Shield Agents toting bulky guns.

"Miss. Cordelia," he said, motioning to the man curled up on the floor, "Now, why would you do that?"

She crossed her arms, and huffed, turning her head to the side.

"Cordelia, please respond so we don't have to sedate you, and force you to the farthest wing of the hospital."

"He called me a retard," she said, in a gravelly voice.

"Well, now, we'll have to have a talking to with him. How are you settling in?"

She shrugged, her dark eyes fixated on the wood paneling of the doorway.

"You will have plenty of time to talk," he assured her, "But for now, you don't have to. Welcome to the Auxilium."

In the clear window of the office, she saw a man pass by, with dark hair drooping to his shoulders. His pensive emerald eyes swept over her figure, and he smiled.

She glared back at him. She knew him from a time long, long ago...

* * *

**Author's note:**

**So. This idea just popped into my head, and I've actually got some of it planned out already. You don't get to see much into my OC's mindset with this chapter, but, in the next, we'll learn a little more about her. Of course, the next chapter will be fixated on Loki, primarily. I'm very excited to write this.**

**Cordelia's line, "And I _hated _my father," was influenced by the Joker's line in _The Dark Knight, _at the dinner party. It just fit too well with this!**

**This story will be rated M for mature language, gore, and sexual situations in later chapters.**


	2. Justice is Always Served Cold

~A week prior~

Soot clung to Loki's sore body like a second skin; his hair was singed at the tips, and his eyes were unreadable, tainted with what appeared to be regret, but for what or whom, it was not known. He stood on the bank of coal fused with viscous lava, that had hardened and formed wizened bridges of ebony.

The sky flickered with unmistakable light, and Loki knew that archaic magic was being performed, that soon, he'd be thrust into court once more, and jested at by the Council, of Asgardians who would feel only hatred towards a frost giant.

A frost giant.

What he _truly _was.

He shut his eyes, willing to find a comforting escape for at least a few minutes, before-

Whistling winds bustled through the area, almost knocking Loki off his feet, and peeling his eyelids back, forcing his eyes to pop wide open. His hair smacked him in the face, and tangled with his long eyelashes. Finally, the winds curtailed, and Loki removed the hand he had been using as a shield for his face, to finally see the cause of such tremulous weather, although he already knew the answer.

"Loki," Thor said, unveiling himself from the thick fog that had settled around him, and he shook it off like it was a cape attached to his shoulders. He took one tentative step forward, attempting to read his brother's expression. Loki stared at the ground, unwilling to meet Thor's eyes.

"It's time," Thor said, louder, hoping that Loki might respond.

"Oh, trust me, I _know," _Loki sneered, his teeth gritted, his hands clenching into fists by his side.

"Your fate depends on the Council's wise decision, your future rests-"

"_So _apocalyptic," Loki laughed, throwing his head back as he did so, enunciating his gaunt throat.

"You will not jest like this soon," Thor growled, grabbing his brother sharply by his forearm, and tugging him forward.

"Must you grope me so?" Loki said, "I can comprehend that you missed me dearly, _but, _you could be a tad gentler."

Thor ignored his brother's jab, and pointed Mjolnir to the sky, uttering something unintelligible under his breath.

"Performing magic, I see? I thought you said that was an art specifically for _girls,_" Loki cooed, raising an eyebrow at his brother, who was trying hard not to lose it and yell at the disowned god.

"I'm not performing magic," Thor replied, and before Loki could grasp what was going on, they shot off, the world slowly melting into an abysmal blur of multitudinous colors, moving at unimaginable speeds, so much that they resembled a child's soiled watercolor painting.

Thor had his eyes clenched closed, and Loki had to admit, it took a vain amount of effort to keep them open; the barreling winds and the high speeds they were currently traveling with smacked at them sharply; it tugged at their skin, and clothes, and created a universal astounding pressure against the entire body.

Finally, the wait was over, and Loki felt himself propelled onto a rock-like material on his hands and knees. As he peeled open his eyes and looked at his surroundings, he realized that he was kneeling on the Rainbow Bridge- an architectural structure that he was _sure _that it had been destroyed by the almighty, big Thor.

He heard murmurings; exchanges between Thor and Heimdall at the entrance, no doubt about _him. _

"I thought this was broken," Loki rasped, groaning as he pushed himself upwards, off the bridge.

"You've been gone for a while, brother," Thor said quietly as he prodded Loki in the back to encourage him to move. Loki did start walking, but not before turning around and saying,

"You could have just asked me, _brother. _No need to be, as I will say again, so _touchy feely, brother._"

"If you do not shut that choleric mouth of yours, I shall force you to wear the muzzle once more."

Loki pursed his lips, and continued walking down the newly rebuilt bridge. Heimdall accompanied them, laconic as always.

_Not as magnificent as before, _he mused to himself.

At the gates, Heimdall opened them for the two, and they strode in, Loki perusing the place he had once called 'home', the place where he had not been to in what felt like a million years.

Some passerby avoided meeting Loki's gaze entirely, and only giving a half-hearted greeting to Thor. Others were more on the inimical side, leering at Loki, or whispering in their partner's ear surreptitiously, but Loki could tell that they were mocking the king's dishonored son.

"Everyone looks beyond ecstatic to see me!" Loki said, waving (or, waving as much as he could with the chains linked to his wrists).

Thor did not respond to his brother's sarcasm, but instead, focused on the internal dread that had been building inside him. He _knew _that Loki had had a horrible time in Muspelheim. Loki had been forced to work with a blacksmith in one of the many villages; pounding iron and various metals into durable weapons. Time was also spent charting coal, and sweltering under the incredibly hot temperature, far too hot for Loki's taste, and in sharp contrast to the Jotun blood that flowed within him. Thor knew this, although every trip he made to Muspelheim to see how his brother was doing, he did not convey any sort of discomfort. Loki said that he was doing perfectly fine, although the people that surrounded him and watched him on a daily basis said otherwise. He was not a complainer however. Stål, the blacksmith, noticed a palpable change within Loki's demeanor, actions, and face. His eyes grew to have the hollow look of one who wishes to tear out of their current predicament, but doesn't know how. He sat slumped when he ate his food, unlike the first day, when he stood tall, and his bed held no comfort for him. He preferred rather, to roam over his countless, everlasting thoughts and aspirations until they tormented him, almost fully pushing him off the edge of insanity, which was never panoramic in its nature.

Thor nudged Loki along, who stopped randomly at various points, causing Thor to almost collide with him every time. In order to stop this foolish game Loki had suddenly decided to play, Thor kept one hand on his shoulder to truncate any sudden, frustrating movement.

When they reached the Council room, it was already swollen with all of the necessary members, who were grouped together in the gilded stands, their eyes fixated on Loki's form. He stood straight, and raised an eyebrow haughtily, prepared to receive the onslaught of debilitating comments that they were sure to spit out. No matter what, the verdict would not be in his favor. Even though Thor had started a _war _against the Jotuns, they still embraced him with open arms. Thor's _arduous_, far too_ long_ punishment in Midgard ensured that he would be a_ venerable_, _capable_ leader. Loki, on the other hand, attempted to _end _the war, and conquer a planet that Asgard considered inferior anyway.

And what did he get? A sentence to Muspelheim, and pure, unabashed hatred, delivered by the citizens and royalty of Asgard alike. And now, his punishment may still go on.

If he _were _to remain in Asgard, what sort of life would that be anyway? To be Thor's right hand man? Oh, no. Oh no, he could not do that, to watch his 'brother' lead the life _he _wanted for himself. No, it wasn't even that. He could not _stand _the idea of the crowds cheering for the always gloating Thor, who sucked respect and credibility out of his sycophants like a leech. Did he _earn _this love? Oh, Thor _says _he did, but, his crimes were just as heinous as Loki's, and his arrogance was like a wine stain on a white table cloth; it may fade, and not be as noticeable, but it's still there! No, three days on Midgard could not _possibly _teach Thor the daunting art of humility. It was impossible.

Thor came back a hero. Loki came back a pariah.

Loki had been stirring a boiling cauldron of jealousy and hatred for a while now, and it was threatening to spill over as he slipped into the murky pond that was his thoughts.

As the Council noticed Loki's appearance, silence settled upon them, but their faces bore a more grating cacophony than their mouths ever could. Their faces reflected animosity and disdain, so much that their lips curled, and their hair stood on end. Curtains the color of dark wine scrolled open at the opposite end of the courtroom, and two Asgardian guards strode prominently out, their armor emblazoned with the emblem of the king: Odin. Thor was meant to become king, but for now, with all of the hysteria surrounding Loki's return, it was crucial for Odin to remain at his position at the momentum.

There was an oak stand in the middle of the room, and it stood on the edge of a navy circle that was painted onto the floor; it was thin like the fiber of a spider's web, and faded at one point, as if it was a crescent moon. On the stand was a miniscule step, and Thor forced Loki to stand up on it, aiding him slightly as to assuage that he wouldn't tumble down. Loki rested his bound wrists on the stand before him. He made sure that his face was impassive, that his stance was casual, as though he was about to have a friendly conversation with a group of friends.

Finally, a familiar face stepped out from the protection of the curtains. It was a face that Loki had not seen in a long, long time: Odin. Odin was swathed in his usual golden garb, clutching the staff that Loki had seized so long ago, and threatened Thor's life with.

That was once, and a time like that would never approach again.

"Today," Odin declared, in an articulate, steady voice, "We have come to assess the trial of Loki Odinson, my own son, who has committed heinous crimes and treason against the Asgardian people. He was violated my trust, your trust, and for that, we punished him. We sent him to the sprawling fire haven of Muspelheim, where the people did not necessarily accept him with open arms, but did not drive him out. They were cordial, they were _civil. _Hard labor is not something that we endure for the most part, and hopefully, that has changed Loki for the better, to value things that aren't tangible, but are far more important than any materialistic substance could be. Loki, we have gathered here today to see how far along you've moved from your previous stature, and to see where your journey shall lead you."

_Maybe, _Loki thought, _Maybe he should have banished me to Hel, instead of Muspelheim. _

A Council woman named Svala stood up then, her robes swashing against her zaftig form as she said, "My king, I do not believe that he walks on the path of redemption, look at that smirk!"

The crowd turned towards the now "bewildered" Loki. "I do not know what you mean," he said smoothly, towards the flustered woman.

"Svala, calm yourself," Odin said, motioning with his hand to indicate that she should sit down.

"Loki," Odin said, "What say you in your defense?"

"I have learned oh so many things, allfather," Loki stated mindlessly.

"Oh? What exactly, my son?"

"Hard labor-" Before Loki could finish, Odin's troupe began marching towards him, and he raised an eyebrow in confusion. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Loki, you are quite the master of lies," Odin said. "I demand to cut the intricate web of these untruths you spin."

Odin then walked over to Loki, who was viewing him with an expression of barely held back fury. He stepped back, and his heel dipped into thin air. He regained his composure by digging his knee into the stand, and forcing himself back up.

Odin produced an aquamarine vial from one of his pockets with a flourish, tapping the cap lightly with an index finger. "Drink this."

"What is that?" Loki inquired calmly, his eyes narrowing at the cryptic container. He had seen it somewhere before, he might have even used whatever substance was inside on various occasions…

Loki's skin grew ashen as he recognized the jar. It was a truth serum.

"You cannot make me do this," he rasped, and stepped off the stand carefully, preparing to run as far as he could. Thor stopped him, propelling him forward, ignoring the sharp kick Loki delivered to his vulnerable shin.

The guards fastened hold on Loki, and he squirmed in their grasp. "You can-NOT touch me, _I _am _royalty!_" he hissed. "Odin, father, no, please no,"

"If you had nothing to hide," Odin said, "Then there'd be nothing to fear." Thor forced Loki's mouth open, and Odin unscrewed the vial with a simple twist of his fingers. He then tilted the bottle, producing one silvery drop, that dripped onto Loki's parched tongue, and slid down his throat.

Loki's body went slack for a moment, and then his eyes burst open, roaming wildly.

"How may you feel towards your fellow Midgardians?" Odin asked.

"I-" he thrashed, trying to release himself from the hold of the truth serum. Unfortunately for him, he ended up spilling every secret that had been contained within him; he still sneered down upon the Midgardians, grew to hate the Muspel people and their horrendous planet; his jealousy of Thor had gotten to be outrageously savage, and, worse of all, his desires for superiority were not doused. Rather, the trial, and his outlandish treatment had fanned the unquenchable fire that burned inside of Loki.

By the end of it all, the Council was incredibly disgusted, and Odin felt immensely disappointed, wishing that he didn't have to continue this treatment; that Loki could be the son he'd knew, and loved, instead of the spiteful man he pretended to be, who was nothing but vitriolic.

"I feel…" Odin said, "That the Muspelheim punishment wasn't enough-"

Loki remained silent, unsure of where Odin was going with this.

"I render you mentally unstable. Our healers are unwilling to try to fix you…"

Before Loki had been sentenced to the fiery planet, he had been subjected to the various salves and repetitions of the healers, who had tried to 'fix' his state of mind, to no avail.

"I have been made aware of the healing potentials of the various institutions on Midgard, that specialize in treating those who have lost reasoning. Thor has educated me on this," Odin continued.

_Was Odin suggesting_…?

"Therefore, I condemn you to a place that will help you regain mental balance once more…on Midgard."

"YOU CANNOT BANISH ME THERE!" he shrieked, "YOU CANNOT SUBJECT ME TO THIS! YOU, YOU WILL GO TO HEL, YOU WILL _ROAST _IN HELL, ALL OF YOU SHALL SUCCUMB TO THAT FATE, ALL OF YOU-"

Odin pointed his scepter at Loki then, who was absolutely hysterical. "YOU CANNOT. YOU CAN'T! FATHER, PLEASE…"

With a blinding flash of light, Loki was gone.

He traveled through the throbbing tunnel of screaming light, his body tossed around like a flimsy rag doll, his legs kicking mercilessly, his arms reaching for something to hold, something to stabilize his current state of disconnection. Anything, anything at all, to stop the incessant roaring in his ears from the screeching winds that barreled past him, that he had once grown used to, once accepted, but now detested. These winds, these colors did not bring him to a sanctuary of freedom, but rather to a place that would shun him farther. He would be one of them, his powers were stripped from him as suddenly as taking candy from a child; his position of nobility had been deteriorated to that of a common peasant. It was almost laughable.

Finally, the inane torture that had pulsed around him released him from its talons, and he collided with rock solid ground, his hands scraping viciously against the material, his eyes still closed. He opened one eye, and immediately glanced it closed, revolted against the unexpected leer of sunlight. His body was ravaged with aches all over; he did not even know where to begin to calculate the pain. He opened his hands, and stretched his fingers out, satisfied with the knowledge that they weren't broken.

He opened his eyes, and was immediately blinded with the sight of dust, and sand dunes that had small peaks in the center. Dusky tangles of weed rolled through the area, and the sticky hot air clung to his skin, and matted his hair to his neck. It was not _as _bad as Muspelheim, he'd give it that.

He managed to get to his knees, dusting off the dirt that he'd practically embraced in his fall. As he did so, he heard the unmistakable _click _of the safety hatch being pulled on a gun, and he looked up to find himself face to face with the barrel of it, clenched in the gloved fist of the owner wearing dark armor, that had the Shield logo stitched onto it.

Up above, he heard the droning hum of a helicopter.

He had been shoved into a truck, and surrounded by seven men yielding guns, pointing them at him with stoic faces, not betraying any expression. If Loki wanted to, he could get them to crack. He could get them to reveal their utmost secrets if he wanted to. But, he was heavily outnumbered, and he was forced to bear the burden of being…

He did not even want to think of the word, or let it make a disgusting path through his brain. He noticed with disgust how the men began idle chatter amongst themselves. His lip curled, and his eyes fixated on the ceiling, which was studded with metal, and pierced with a tiny hole, which let a single slice of sunshine permeate the vehicle. He wanted nothing of it.

Where were they taking him? Ah, it was the grand scheme of this- Odin had _meant _for this to happen. No matter, now. He'd find a way out. Mortals were incredibly unintelligent and daft, and he knew he would be able to slip by them, before they could cart him off to whatever torture chamber they'd concocted specifically for him.

They pulled up to the front of a building composed of red bricks, with a well kempt lawn, and a sign propped on the fresh green grass that read, AUXILIUM, in white block letters.

Loki scrutinized the area shrewdly; it looked like a comely building, but he knew that appearances were deceiving. For all he knew, there was a death trap located in there, where it would pull out his intestines and wrap them around his neck.

Morbid, but it could happen, he supposed. Humans were just as maniacal as Asgardians, perhaps even darker, and they wouldn't stop at anything, he felt. He did not bother to ask the guards stationed beside him what lurked inside the building; he knew that questions meant that he was full with apprehension, which in turn meant that he was _scared. _He _wasn't _scared, and he _didn't _want the mortals to form that misconception of him. He was escorted out, and walked diligently amongst the midst of them, knowing that if he had his powers, he could snap each and every one of their scrawny necks.

Unfortunately, his father was an evil, foolish old man, and he sucked away the only potential that Loki had. He had taken something precious from him, and dangled that in front of his face if he cooperated with his biased terms.

The lobby of the building was simply decorated, but held that feeling of laboring too intensively over the matter of aesthetics. The walls were lilac, and there was a colorful array of chairs placed in a circular pattern. Bright yellow flowers were mounted on the top of the brick fireplace that was edged into the wall west of Loki. The lobby wasn't an eyesore, really, but it was downright hideous compared to the pulchritude of Asgard's architecture, which was always built from luxurious materials that appeared to have been transported directly from Valhalla itself.

A man suddenly stepped out from behind the closed door of the cryptic office in the lobby, which had heavy blinds drawn over the two windows of it. This man, Loki had only spoken with briefly, with trivial, almost witty banter, but nonetheless, he knew him in a way that almost no one else did.

Nick Fury.

He still wore his signature trench coat and eye patch, which reminded Loki of the all so gracious Odin, who displayed his disability as if it was a gold metal.

"Loki," Fury said, unsmiling, but with a subtle hint of mirth crackling in his eyes, "Thor has alerted us to where you fell to, which was pretty damn helpful, cause now we know what we need to do with you."

"And what does that happen to be?" Loki said, calmly.

They could not do anything harmful to him, he realized, Thor would not accept it. Although he loathed Thor with a burning passion, he realized that his false sibling was so desperate, drowning in futile efforts to 'redeem' Loki, so much that he'd bash the brains out of anyone who dared to lay a finger on Loki. Loki knew, however, that redemption was not possible, that he was past the point of no return, and could not afford to look back now and reevaluate his life choices and decisions.

Fury finally spoke again. "We understand that you are mentally ill, and therefore, we have entered you into the best sanatorium in the country."

"A…sanatorium…" Loki said slowly, as if he was learning a new language.

"Yes…it's a hospital for-"

"I _know _what a sanatorium is, I am not an idiot," Loki seethed, his fingers digging into his palms with great force, his body trembling.

"Well-" said Fury, but before he could finish his statement, Loki slammed one of the guards in the face, breaking his nose. Then, grabbing another's arm, and wrenching it towards him, he effectively dislocated the person's shoulder. He tore open a gash in another's face with a single slash using the sharp edge of his handcuffs.

However, he suddenly felt a stinging pain in the side of his neck, and before he could register anything else, the world went blurry, and he slumped to the floor.

~Present Day~

"We're going to have to ask you to remove all of your clothes and put them in this box," the nurse said, extending a fluorescent green container towards Cordelia, who stared at it with uncertainty. The nurse wore a nametag that read 'Sandra,' and her teeth were overly bleached.

Cordelia decided right then and there that she disliked her. She adopted an almost saddened expression, instead of handing over her garments, and remained static in her disposition.

"Honey, we're sorry, but these are precautions," Sandra said, shaking the box lightly. "Now, c'mon."

In truth, Cordelia did not give two shits about giving up her clothes, they were bought off the clearance rack at Walmart, for fuck's sake. She just didn't want to be so exposed in front of the annoyingly upbeat nurse.

"I want privacy," Cordelia said.

"We're all girls here," Sandra said.

"Actually, I'm a hermaphrodite, so it's a constant internal debate on whether or not I should label myself a 'guy', or a 'girl.'"

Sandra paled. "I'll be waiting outside. Remove all of your clothes, including undergarments. " She opened a drawer and pulled out a folded burnt orange jumper and deposited it on the floor carefully, as if she was giving raw meat to a fearsome dog. She then left the room, closing the door with a _click. _

"Gullible little bitch," Cordelia muttered, and shrugged out of her torn jeans and bulky sweatshirt. She unhooked her bra, and pulled off her panties. She then stepped into the jumper, wincing at the rough polyester fabric, which did nothing to insulate her chilled skin. Wasn't the Auxilium supposed to be a prestigious asylum, anyway? She half expected the clothes to be made of cashmere, or silk. What a pretentious load of shit this hospital is.

Sandra then barged into the room, not looking directly at Cordelia. "You done?"

"Yeah," Cordelia responded, "This is very nice jumper, by the way. Très couture."

"I heard you were a snappy one," Sandra sighed. She placed a hand on Cordelia's back, and directed her towards the door. Immediately, Cordelia wriggled herself away from Sandra's touch, disliking the crawling sensation it produced. She ignored the sharp sounds of Sandra clucking her disapproving tongue, and made her way down the hallway.

The asylum's walls were painted a dark gray, which had begun to chip, adding to the eerie aura the hospital in general projected. In order to spice up the banal monochromatic color scheme, various paintings were attached to the wall, and were of inanimate things: fruits, trees, birds.

"Y'know, the Auxilium was started in 1929…" Sandra began, her voice very matter of fact. It was obviously a speech that she had recited numerous times, and, it was also obvious that she took great joy in doing so.

Cordelia did not care to listen to the verbal diarrhea of random facts that she didn't give a fuck about. Listening to a bundle of random facts did not lighten the preposterous situation she had been thrust into, and Sandra's efforts to make her feel at 'home' were all in vain, and came off more as creepy, than comforting.

Of course, this could have all been avoided if she had chosen a _different _house to burn down. But no, Shield just _happened _to be there that night, watching her revel in a task that she'd performed countless times. She was a _master _at it. Besides, she usually torched mansions, anyway, so that the people who owned them didn't lose that much. Well, she meant that they had plenty of money to rebuild the home and get new stuff, and they probably had a scattering of other homes throughout the country.

It was like a hydra. Burn down one home…_oh, honey, we still have our summer house in Bermuda! And our winter home in Vermont!_

See? No big deal.

"Now, what do you think about that?" Sandra's squealing voice pierced through Cordelia's reminiscing, and she found herself at a loss of words.

"That's fantastic," Cordelia muttered, hoping that answered whatever Sandra was babbling about.

"You think…that Patty sneaking a _knife _into her room and killing the guard is _fantastic?_"

"Hey, I'm psycho, what can I say," Cordelia offered, shrugging.

Sandra pursed her lips in response. Silence ensued for the rest of the journey, until they reached Cordelia's assigned room. The room itself was blandly furnished, with a simple bed, a wooden desk with rounded edges, and a dresser squashed in the corner, with a small TV mounted on top of it.

"In case you want to write any letters to loved ones, there's paper in that drawer, and crayons!" Sandra stated, pointing to the desk enclosing a singular drawer.

Cordelia simply stared at the arrangement. There were no windows in the place. But she was okay with that. The freedom of the outside would have taunted her terribly anyways. She half expected the walls to be padded, and for there to be no bed, just a chair and an accompanying straitjacket.

"Now, in an hour you'll be taken to the cafeteria to eat. You can request a time to visit the bathing rooms as well. Push that button on the wall by your bedpost if you need assistance," Sandra said. "There are clothes in the drawers, take as you please." She then shut the door and left.

Cordelia immediately peeled off the jumper, grimacing at the uneasy feeling of going commando. She found underwear in the drawer reminiscent of those found in 6 packs sold at convenience stores, but hey, did she expect them to have lingerie imported from Belgium?

She found a pair of sweatpants, and a sweatshirt that read: _The Auxilium: We'll take care of you. _She snorted, and tossed it on the bed. Weirdly, she couldn't find any bras in the drawers. Good thing that her breasts were on the smaller side, or else, they'd be bouncing around everywhere.

But seriously. They couldn't invest in at least one bra?

_Whatever, _Cordelia thought, and tugged on the weird sweatshirt and sweatpants. She laid back on the bed; the overwhelming exhaustions of the day had taken a toll on her. At least, at least now she wouldn't have to worry about pillaging homes to find money to get food, and at least she wouldn't have to worry about finding sanctuary for sleep. It would be okay for now.

For _now. _This is how it always went. Once she got settled in a novice place, she felt okay for a few days, then her urge to break out became so overwhelming, that, well, she did just that.

It was only a matter of time.

A knock sounded on the door, and she said, "Come in."

A woman and a man, dressed in labcoats told her that it was time to eat. Cordelia obliged, because she was absolutely famished. Luckily, the woman and man barely spoke to her, leaving Cordelia alone to her own thoughts, blissfully protected from any invaders, for the moment at least.

The dining hall was empty. Dinner, they explained, was split into three different waves. Cordelia had conveniently missed all three, but, they managed to crack open the cafeteria so she wouldn't starve to death.

She sat at a circular table, and waited for her food to be brought. Apparently it was buffet style usually, but since she was the only person there, her food would be brought to her personally.

_Aren't I special? _

An expressionless lunch lady dumped a tray in front of Cordelia. It was a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and accompanied by a Dole fruit cup, a bottle of water, and green beans.

It was pretty hard to fuck up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and therefore, Cordelia dug right in, barely tasting the food as she wolfed it down, too eager to satiate the brutal pain her stomach had been subjecting her to.

The room was kind of cold in general, but that all changed in a matter of minutes, as a blanket of warmth crept over Cordelia, infused specifically from the west side of her. She glanced over, and saw, with great, so great delight, at the gas fireplace, which had just been ignited.

_Fire. _It was a beautiful, ferocious thing, and it appealed to her so because it wasn't just a pretty plaything. It could kill, it could injure- but there was so much beauty to it if you could use it right. A simple combination of harmless things, fused together, created this insane loveliness that could not be replicated by anything else on the planet. The way it claimed things for its own, the way it scarred, the way it left its signature mark never ceased to amaze her every time. She bought a lighter the moment she crash landed on Midgard, and also, a pack of cigarettes. She didn't smoke, and didn't plan to, but used the cigarettes as a scapegoat to explain why she had a lighter. She didn't know many people who carried one around casually. But, when trading things with other various homeless people, she had to show them what she had first, and that mundane combination of lighter and cigarette didn't trigger any alarms.

She didn't like to be dubbed a 'pyromaniac.' Mainly because it had the word 'maniac' in it. She wasn't crazy. She just happened to appreciate nature. Did they call birdwatchers avianmaniacs? _No, _they didn't. People were just too judgmental in that way.

She looked down at her tray, and realized that she'd eaten everything. It's amazing how quickly food disappears when you're hungry.

After she retired to her quarters, accompanied by the mysterious woman and man duo, she told them that she wished to take a shower. The woman told her that along with the shower area was a pool, and since Cordelia liked swimming, she began rooting through her drawers for a swimsuit. Sadly, there weren't any garments suitable for swimming, _but, _she found a lightweight white tanktop, and navy shorts, made of a polyester material. It was close enough. After she shrugged out of her bra and previous clothes which would have been too cumbersome if saturated with water, she was directed down to the pool area.

In the encasing was a simple stretch of water, ranging from three feet deep to six, and when Cordelia cautiously dipped a toe in she found, much to her delight, that it was warm. She immediately plunged in, grateful that she _finally _had some leisure time when she wasn't on the run. It was also nice to finally feel truly clean. She showered as often as she could, wherever she could find one, but more often than not, she sometimes went for more than a few days without a proper cleansing. It was gross, she knew that, but she wasn't trying to appeal to anyone's senses anyways. But still, no one liked the feeling of being grimy.

She planned on actually showering of course, not just hopping into the pool, but she thought it odd to scrub away any chemicals on her skin with soap, and then immerse herself with chlorine, which would harden her freshly washed hair.

After she spent about fifteen minutes submerging herself in the water, and doing laps, she finally decided that she had had enough.

As she pulled herself out, her sopping wet, transparent t-shirt clung enticingly to her skin, her breasts clearly visible beneath the flimsy fabric.

At that very moment, she heard the unmistakable _creak _of the door screeching open, and she froze.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Second installment :) I updated this one really early, but normally I take five to eight days to update. Just letting people know if they decide to tag on to this story.**

**Loki and Cordelia will meet in the next chapter.**

**Bye for now!**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	3. It's So Nice To See You Again, Too

**"When they discover the center of the universe, a lot of people will be disappointed to discover they are not it."**

**~Bernard Bailey~**

* * *

When Loki opened his eyes, the world was a blur, saturated with soft murmurs and tinkering metallic objects, the lights leering in his face, causing his pupils to contract into miniscule dots the size of a pepper grain. He winced, and tried to bring his hand to cover his eyes as a shield, but he realized, with muted horror, that his wrists would not rise off the bed, and that they were attached firmly to the sheets with what felt like leather straps. His ankles were knotted with the same device as well, and he wiggled his legs in a desperate attempt to free himself from the clutches of whatever was holding him back.

"He's awake, sir…" A feminine voice trilled, and he immediately felt a cool hand probe his forehead, massaging his temples, "His fever seems to have calmed down."

Fever? What fever?

Loki's eyes shot wide open, and he inevitably winced at the forceful glare of the fluorescent lights overhead, but managed to focus on a painting of dark grapes at the other end of the room, craning his neck to see, until the blur in front of his eyes dissipated. His eyes refocused, and he blinked sporadically, adjusting to his settings. In front of him was a metal rack which scintillated in the light, and beheld medical tools, which looked to be syringes, gauze, knives, and other instruments of torture, collected on a turquoise colored tray. And, looking down, he realized that his guess was correct: leather straps, in fact, _were_ holding him down. The bed sheets were crumpled by his feet- he must've thrown them off when he was sleeping- and he was wearing some sort of pathetic dress- a fucking dress!- which was soaked with sweat, and clung to his body like a piece of sopping wet paper.

As he looked down at his body in pure disgust at the atrocity which was currently on his body, he noted that it was the size of a children's dress, with an open back and decorated with red dots. He looked like a chicken pox victim, a disease he saw inflicted on the people of Midgard, but not his home planet.

That was a joke. He was kidnapped from his real home planet, and raised as a secret invader on Asgard.

Looking to his side, he saw a nurse of average beauty, her brown hair twisted into a chignon, and her calloused hands wringing out a towel above a wash bin, her dress folded into involuntary wrinkles as she squatted.

"Oh, you're awake," she said, giving him an uneasy smile, before sprinkling the last droplets into the bin, and standing up straight.

"Of course I am," he retorted, sardonically, his neck tired with the effort of over extending itself to look at the woman. He lay back down on the pillow, his shoulders relaxing. He felt extraordinarily weak, which did make him angry, but he was too exhausted to do anything about it. His hair was matted to the back of his neck, and there an itch above his left eyebrow, but his hands were contained, and therefore, he could not scratch.

How frustrating.

However, his lack of stamina did not prevent him from interrogating the nurse further.

"Pardon, but can you please tell me why I'm restrained like this?" he asked, hoping that forced politeness might get him an answer that wasn't superficial.

"I can't answer that," the nurse said, and stood up, holding the drenched washcloth in one hand. "Now, lay back," she ordered, and placed the cloth over Loki's forehead, sending streams of water trickling down his face.

"What do you mean you cannot _answer that?_" he growled, teeth gritted.

"Now sir, calm down, or we'll have to resort to drastic measures," she lectured, giving him a sharp warning glance.

"These aren't drastic measures?!"

"You attacked our men. We thought you may try to do that again."

"So you sedated me," Loki said, dully, his face impassive.

"You're awake now. That's what matters. In short time you'll be transported to a different room, which will serve as your bedroom here."

Loki did not say anything, just licked his lips and shut his eyes tighter. He had made an effort at escape, but it was all in vain. Single combat would be in his favor, but, against a troupe of gun-happy humans, he was out of luck. Did Odin find this amusing? He bet that he did. He knew that Odin, after seeing him squander on Muspelheim, sent him to an even _worse _planet, where he would be hospitalized for insanity. He was _not _insane. He wasn't. Odin was the insane one for thinking that dropping him in the midst of human relations was healthy and beneficiary for Loki's wellbeing. Mental illness was practically taboo in Asgard. Asgardians were well known not only for their brawn and glory, but stability as well. Loki, remembered, dimly, a fragment of a conversation between Thor and Lady Sif on the way to his prison cell, where he rotted before the trial that sentenced him to Muspelheim. They thought he was sleeping, but slumber had evaded him for a while now, and they were _fools _to suspect that he was.

As they were walking down the hallway leading to his prison, he heard vividly, the conversation that ensued.

"He's evil, Thor, and you do so much to help him. He doesn't appreciate any of that," Sif said, her voice gritty and low.

"He is not evil, Sif. He's…unhinged."

And then they had reached his cell, and he feigned sleep, Thor's words rattling about his skull and prodding at his conscience. Evil? Oh, he believed for sure he was evil. That little minx, Sif, was quite the bitch, but she had some things spot on, while Thor was an idiotic miscreant.

Unhinged? _Unhinged? _No, Loki's mindset was copacetic. He was the cerebral one in the brotherly pairing, and that was just seen as an oddity, because intellect was not a virtue in Asgard. No. Whoever could throw a spear the fastest, and with the most strength, was seen as viable for knighthood, but, the one that wrote figures and dreamed government for his people, to take care of his people, was shunned and taken aside. Loki was not unhinged. He knew what he was doing…what he had to do…

Well. The time he had invaded Midgard was murky. Some of the things he did not even remember doing…the murders he had committed, the atrocities, the ordinances, the collateral damages…they were but just an echo, some of them. He remembered clearly, though, his entrance from the portal, and his abduction of the avian man's mindset, and, the vitriolic words he had spat at the dastardly woman with the scarlet hair.

Maybe he was unhinged, then. Loki did not even know _what _he was half the time, anyway, and he did not feel like perishing in this bed, and trying to figure it out. No, to get back to Asgard, a relatively safer haven than his previous environments, he'd have to pretend like he respected the mortals. Although, as he watching the nurse move in his peripherals, he imagined taking the metal bucket full of icy water and slamming it into her temple, and tearing at her skin until blood gushed down her face, and she screamed over and over with agony, until he ended her life with a simple twist of his hands.

He hated her. He did not understand how Thor, who once mocked the Midgardians, could fall in _love _with one and fuck one. Well, scratch that. 'Fucking' and 'loving' did not necessarily go hand and hand, and Loki understood that Thor may have been sexually frustrated in his three day visit, and taken that out on some weak-willed, submissive woman. Thor did not shut up about her for the longest time…what was her name…_Jane. _No, Thor would _not_ close his constantly flapping mouth and thick tongue; he'd blabber for ages about how he missed her, but, when he had the opportunity to visit Midgard, he hadn't even bothered to find her. Then, when he finally did, it was too late and Jane had moved on, intoxicated with a mortal's presence instead, neglecting the 'god'.

Of course, since Thor was Thor, he immediately found a new squeeze. Of course, Loki knew that they had not announced anything, but he was not stupid or ignorant. Thor and Sif had _some_thing going on, and Loki scoffed at their attempts to keep things discreet. The way they looked at each other was overbearingly lusty, and the way Thor would casually touch Sif was lingering, and definitely not a platonic pat.

Loki did not really want to focus on Thor and Sif. It was another example of how Thor did nothing and gained everything. When Thor and Jane ended, Loki had wanted Thor to hurt, and possibly even shed tears over the matter. But no. After a night of ingesting far too supple of an amount of mead, Thor passed out in a hearty position on his bed. The next day, he seemed back to his normal personality again, and went out on a hunting spree with the Warriors Three and Sif.

Loki did not care for any foolish romance, however. Sif may have said he was 'jealous' of Thor, but not in the love life aspect. Whenever Thor was obsessing over a woman, his wits (which were scarce in the first place) sunk to a lower level, he neglected his duties, and became so infatuated over the woman that he forgot to attend to the essential elements in his life.

Whatever. While Thor viewed the royal dances and parties as a breeding ground, Loki had bigger, better things to do. Of course, his punishment served as an overbearing hindrance upon his desires, and it was exasperating. Therefore, he concluded, it was necessary to find out what he had to do to lift the burden of the punishment which had descended down upon him.

He heard the door in the room suddenly swing open, accompanied by the dull thud of combat boots upon the waxed floor.

"Oh, hello," the nurse chirped, ever so sanguine as she greeted the guards who had just swept into the room.

"We are here to collect the patient now," one of them stated, stoically.

"Of course." She then made her way over to Loki, and he felt frozen, clammy fingers undo the straps binding his hands and feet, each feeling a strong sense of relief for the freedom.

He sat up, and the cloth slapped across his forehead fell into his lap. He picked it up with two apprehensive fingers, and then practically flung it onto the accompanying dresser by the bed. There were two guards, and they not only had a gun slung across their body, but also a face mask as well. Loki smirked at these precautionary measures, no doubt provoked by his violent actions prior.

"C'mon, go," the nurse hissed, gesturing with a hand.

"I know," he said, and reached behind his back to fasten the ribbon tighter, so the gown wouldn't burst open. Although he was tempted to just leave it as so, and give the guards a nice view.

It was a silent walk down the sinuous corridors, and Loki wondered if the men had been instructed to be this quiet.

"You know, the décor is quite nice," he said, gesturing to the white-washed walls.

The guards did not say anything, and kept walking.

"I hope whoever is paying you, pays you well. This seems like such a banal, uninteresting job."

He made several other leering jabs at the guards, but their composition did not alter in any way. Loki had to give them credit in that perspective; they tolerated annoying behavior quite well. Although he was sure if he did not stop in his feats, they'd eventually snap and do something they'd regret. He was sure of it.

They brought him to a dark room supplied with the bare necessities, along with a box that had a reflective screen they called a 'television.' They left him alone in the room, but warned that there were cameras posted everywhere, in order to monitor any 'funky business.' Loki was infuriated at first, realizing, after scoping out the entire puny room, that there were these cameras _everywhere_, and he couldn't break them because they were shoved in the corners of the ceilings, which were up too high to reach, even with the assistance of a chair.

There were two cameras in the bathroom, including one right across from the toilet, which was very unnerving, and honestly, quite creepy to him at first, but he had begun to feel indifferent to it later, for some unknown reason. They brought him food, although he was more than capable of receiving it at the cafeteria buffet, but apparently they didn't 'trust him around people.'

He was not offended, and preferred to be by himself instead of surrounded by a flock of psychotic Midgardians anyway. It was better this way, he told himself, as he tore open a square gold packet of butter and smeared it on a fist sized roll. He ate slowly, diligently, and then decided to have something to entertain him while he ate.

He noticed by his bedpost a tiny black square embedded with a multitude of squishy buttons in different colors. The guards had told him it was a remote that turned on the TV. The button which had the letter U ingrained in it was the power switch. Hesitantly, but then with great haste in his curiosity to see what the box would do, he pressed it, and with a bright flash of light, the box fizzled on, to display a man sitting at a desk with his hands clasped, talking about a charity event in Tuscaloosa. Loki stared in fascination, with a gaping mouth, wondering what sorcery this was, what magic the Midgardian people had access to.

Well, he knew that the human population did not have access to magic; they were a mundane species who only had their brains and their resources to thrive. However, this, this was a feat that astounded him…slightly.

He closed his mouth, ashamed at his dumbfounded, awed reaction, and flicked random buttons on the remote, trying to figure out what each one did. One brought him suddenly to a different channel, to a show featuring orange monkeys wearing human clothes, and grinding on each other horrendously.

Oh, no. No, no, no-wait-those _were _humans, he could barely recognize them with their gigantic disastrous mess of black hair, and superfluous makeup smeared all over their faces. One of them, who looked like a troll he once encountered in the woods during a rather…interesting hunting trip, strutted into a room, which looked like a tornado blew through it, and said,

"Yo, Ronnie, pass me the alcohol."

He then proceeded to watch, with blatant horror, how these degenerates consumed alcohol like it was water, and then fornicated with each other in hot tubs, in bathrooms, in run down shacks. Is this what Midgardians were truly like? Is this what they truly did in their spare time? Oh, Valhalla, the horror!

He shut off the TV, and placed the remote in a bathroom cabinet, vowing to never turn on that box of garbage ever again. That was horrifying. He'd never even _seen _anyone with that skin color before. Orange? Could he be sure they were even Midgardian?

After that show, which was incredibly odd, he paced in his room for a solid hour, dissecting Odin's speech that was given to him at the trial sentencing him to Midgard, and various other accounts in his life. Finally, he decided to begin preparations to go to bed. He stripped himself of his clothes, and since he had forgotten to head to the shower rooms, he switched on the tap, and began splashing water on his face, and his neck.

The flow of water was suddenly cut off, and he sighed in annoyance. A strange wave of fatigue suddenly washed over him, and he rested his face in his hands, rubbing his droopy eyes.

He then heard a succinct voice travel throughout the area of his room, announcing that it was time for the residents to go to bed, and shower times were over. Frustrated, Loki stormed into the adjacent bedroom, wondering where the voice was coming from. He realized it came near the dresser area, and began edging it sideways, which was a difficult process, due to its heavy weight, but managed to move it a considerable distance. After shoving the dresser aside, he realized that the bulbous mirror attached to the dresser was disguising a strange panel with a small circle embedded with multiple small holes, and after running his fingers across the device, he realized it was vibrating, and throbbing oddly, sending slight electrical impulses through his fingertips.

In his haste to see what it was, he realized he was stark naked, and very cold. They must've forgotten to supply his bathroom with a towel, but it did not matter now because the water on his skin had dried, for the most part. He found in his dresser a thick pair of sweatpants and a hideous sweater decorated with elm trees and red pom-poms. He couldn't care less, though, and tugged it on anyway, ignoring the itchy fabric of the shirt, and focusing instead on the warmth it provided. He collapsed in bed, and suffered a dreamless sleep.

The next day, he was allowed to stay by himself in his room, to do whatever he pleased. The guards warned that this was the last day of leisure. A typical day for every patient of the Auxilium consisted of breakfast, board games with select groups of people in the 'family room', vigorous exercise, and continual therapy. This was to ensure the best care for every patient, and guide them on the right path to recovery.

Loki would rather poke his eyes out with barbed wire, and spent the majority of the day moping in his bed, and cursing at Odin, and Thor, and the population of Asgard for ostracizing him.

He took a prolonged nap which ate up most of the time in the day, and to his pleasure, did not burden him with gruesome nightmares, as was their wont usually. Later, however, he received a knock upon his door, interrupting his aura of solitude. The people standing there were his guards, and they demanded that he enter into the last lunch wave, meaning that he'd be surrounded by the crazies.

He asked if he could enjoy a meal in solitude, instead, as it worked quite well for him, but they seemed to want to torture him, so they basically forced him out.

They took a different route to get to the cafeterias, and they had to go through the main lobby of the hospital. They breached a strange room with translucent windows, and Loki noticed, with great interest, that there was a _girl_ in there, being interrogated (probably) by Fury. She had the strangest color hair: it was aquamarine, and was set in messy waves, which were in sharp contrast to her neon orange jumpsuit, the uniform of the Auxilium. He slowed down, interested by who this could be, noting with great satisfaction at her clenched fists, her legs posed in a defensive stance. She turned around, then, and Loki stopped, staring at her angular face, and those gray eyes, which seemed to bore into his soul.

He smirked at her, her ever so familiar face stuck eternally in his memory, despite the discrepancy between her past version's hair, and her present. In response to his beguiling little grin, she threw him a death glare, full of spite, her nostrils flared. He flashed a toothy grin at her, and sauntered on, amusement apparent in his face, but bewilderment fresh in his heart.

_What was she doing here? _

That question was left unanswered for the better part of the day. He expected the lunch room to be inhabited by savage people making a ruckus and flinging bits of food everywhere, screeching in undistinguishable voices. However, when he entered the room, he noticed that what he thought was a complete paradox to the actuality.

It was very quiet, save for soft murmurs, and mostly people kept to themselves, just eating their food, or picked at it. They rarely looked up, and almost no sounds escaped their throats. The people moved through the lunch line with a simultaneous speed, their faces downcast, their hands clutching their trays to their hearts. Loki joined the cue, still incredibly wary about the whole situation, but nonetheless, grabbed a tray, and waited amongst the people. He grabbed a spoon from the rack of utensils, but suddenly dropped it through slippery fingers, it clattering on the floor. To his dismay, as he looked back, he realized there were no more utensils left at all.

"Here, kid. Have mine. I'm not getting the soup today," the woman said in front of him. She turned around to give him a spoon, her blue eyes kind, and her striated, wrinkled face weary.

He stared at her, shocked by the kind gesture, and almost completely forgot his manners.

"Here," she said, and plopped it on his tray, unfazed by his reaction. "I'm Bea, by the way."

"Thank you," he blurted. "I'm Loki." He had not expected anyone to address him so…colloquially, so normally…

"Nice to meet you," she said, and then nodding at the lunch lady in the cafeteria line when she asked Bea if she wanted spaghetti. "The food here's prime. I suggest you get the chicken noodle soup. It's Campbell."

"What's Campbell?" he asked, peering at the food placed in vats.

"It's a soup brand, kid," she said, staring at him in disbelief, before shaking his head. "They must not have that in Britain."

"Britain?" He was now incredibly confused. He had no idea what this woman was blabbering on about, and he regretted dropping that spoon in the first place.

She dropped her intense gaze, and said, "Don't worry about it. Anyway, if you need a place to sit, my table's open."

"Okay," he said, grateful that she had stopped the interrogations. She left the line, and sat at an empty table. He waited for the lunch lady to finish doling out the soup, taking Bea's suggestion. After he was served, he slowly walked over to Bea. He could tell right away that she was a person who wouldn't irritate him. It irked him a bit that he wouldn't be able to sit alone, but he felt that he owed her something for her help.

"Hello," he greeted Bea, as he sat down, balancing the hot soup on his tray.

"Hello…uh, what's your name?" she asked, glancing at him briefly, before entangling the spikes of a fork in her spaghetti.

"I'm Loki," he said, and spooned some of the soup in his mouth, almost spitting it out right away- he had shoved the boiling hot liquid into his mouth without thinking, and his tongue was now scorched.

"Careful, kid," Bea replied, shaking her head slightly. "Anyway, what a name."

"You could say that."

"Are you new?"

"Yes."

"Funny. Another new kid came in today."

"Oh, who?" Loki asked, the image of the girl with the dark gray eyes still fresh in his memory. Her name, he could not remember it, but he could remember her, bright as daylight…

"Her name's…it starts with a C, I think, but I've only seen a passing glimpse of her. She hasn't hit the lunch wave yet," Bea commented, dicing a meatball in half.

_Cordelia. That _was the name. By the gods, how could he forget who she was? That was insane for the most part.

"I saw her, too," he piped in.

"Yeah? Her hair's kinda funky," she said.

"Hmm," he partially agreed, reminiscing to what she had looked like before. He had seen her multiple times in Asgard, casually strolling through the market place, and various other public verandas. Once, he'd even met her, face to face, strolling in the woods, although that memory brought up a well of strange emotions within him, and he didn't know how to deal with that. Her hair was once the color of mahogany, and very wavy, cascading down to the middle of her back when she let it out of its usual tie.

He looked back at Bea, who had her eyes focused on her meal. She seemed so…_normal. _Why was she even here, then, in a _mental _asylum, of all places?

"Why are you here?" he blurted out.

She stopped eating, and stared at him once more. "That's not something you ask around here, kid. You're lucky I'm not…well…so…" Her eyes shifted, trying to come up with a proper euphemism to replace the phrase she had in mind, but not succeeding. "Anyway, just don't ask that, okay?" she concluded.

Loki felt slightly embarrassed, although he didn't know why- Bea was just a prosaic mortal, caught in the dregs of life that the Auxilium provided for her. He did not say much, and felt too awkward to even apologize, something that he had not done in what felt to be an eternity.

"No hard feelings, kid," she said, patting his hand. He almost recoiled from the touch, but didn't want to make her any madder. She didn't seem mad, though. She had dismissed what he said, earlier, after all. She did not appear to have any ulterior motives.

When lunch was over, they both exchanged goodbyes, and Bea had said it was nice to meet him. With a light wave towards the much older woman, Loki departed.

Back in his chamber, he strolled once more, no longer thinking of the weird sentimentalities of Bea, but rather of Cordelia, the strange woman he had encountered in the forest, so long ago…

His musings were interrupted by the rather annoying guards, who informed him that if he wanted to take a shower, it was best to go now. Loki welcomed this, however, as his hair had become incredibly greasy, and his body felt stale. Although he did not really smell, he was overcome with that grimy, mainly imaginary sensation of a body which had not washed in the previous day.

His guards accompanied him to the bathroom doors, and gave him some spiel about how there was a pool if he wanted to go swimming, and various other things he did not really care about.

He stepped into the room, and suddenly, noticed…

A woman was climbing out of the pool, her slim legs tucked beneath her perky breasts, her hair, tinted dark by the water, clinging like viscous foam to the back of her shirt.

Was it…was it…_Cordelia?!_

With rapid excitement, Loki walked briskly over to the woman, who gaze was now fixated on him. Her eyes betrayed nothing, and her eyebrows were only slightly elevated. She stood in that defensive position, once more.

When he was in front of her, he noticed that her shirt was completely translucent, and he could see her breasts very clearly, her nipples erect from the icy water. His gaze involuntarily shifted to her chest, which she did not even bother to cover up with modesty.

He brought his gaze back up to her dark eyes with great difficulty, swallowing hard. Naughty fantasies began to play out in his head, of her lying on top of his bedspread, writhing for him in pure lust, her hands traveling down her thighs…

"You're…you're Cordelia," he said, in a rushed way, his eyes roaming her face desperately, trying to control his inane urges, and to will his lower parts to behave.

"Great job, Einstein," she said, coolly, almost superciliously, as if everyone who lived on the planet Earth should know her name.

"I remember you. Do you not remember me?" he asked.

"Don't know, don't care," she said, walking straight past him. He grabbed her bicep with visible strength, stalling her movement.

She swiftly dislodged her grip, and stared at him with unblinking eyes. "Don't touch me, Loki."

"You do remember me," he said, his eyes widening. "You little _wench._"

His face was in close proximity to hers, but she did not even flinch.

"Of course I remember you. You're Odin's exiled son." She seemed to be indifferent to the fact that he had insulted her.

Loki gritted his teeth at the misnomer. "You know…what are _you _doing here, Cordelia?"

"That's none of your business."

"Did you finally get in trouble for playing with fire?" he seethed, staring at her small face.

She did not respond, her eyes shifting out of focus from his, taking on a paranoid expression.

"Ah, you did," he whispered, "I can see it in your eyes."

She blinked very slowly, still staring at some object behind Loki, her lips scrunched.

"And, why is that? Why do you look upon me with disgust, Cordelia? I know it is not for sure because of my deeds on Midgard. I know that for sure. You are no saint either, you stupid woman, and now, now you put on this vile act of innocence, and you ignore me as if you're better, well, I was _nobility, _you haughty _bitch. _DON'T YOU REMEMBER ANYTHING? ARE YOU THAT DAFT?!" He screamed, his temper completely out of control.

When he was done with his tirade, she simply raised an eyebrow. Then, she slapped him very hard, so hard, that a violet bruise swarmed into the offended cheek.

Of course, as soon as she hit him, her guards burst through the double doors, and began striding towards her. "Your fun time's over," one of them said, and beckoned for her to come with them.

"It wasn't fun to begin with," she said, and stood her ground.

"You hit another patient. You will be on constant watch and duty for the next two days, and you will not be permitted to leave your room. Come with us, _now._"

Cordelia's facial expression did not change. But, before she departed with the guards, she turned to look at Loki, who had a sneer plastered on his face, and said, "I hate you."

The worst part was it was not said in an angry, heat of the moment sort of way. It was said so serenely, almost indifferently, that it bothered Loki immensely. It dug sharply under his skin, and corroded at his soul. The sneer deteriorated on his face, and was replaced by a dim scowl. She was escorted back to her room.

Later that night, he lay awake in his bed, rerunning exactly what he said to her.

Well…_fuck._

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Hello, hello! I've finally got all the preliminary stuff for this story done, and now, we'll get to see Loki and Cordelia interact more and more, their relationship (although not romantic at first) has kickstarted. It does not seem like that, I know, but she will not be mad at him forever.**

**If so, then I wouldn't have started this story to begin with.**

**This chapter was entirely in Loki's POV, so next, I'll start off with Cordelia's POV to see why she acted the way she did.**

**Thank you to the people who have followed this story.**

**Also, thank you to DarlingDeathMachine, who left two beautiful reviews.**

**By the way, from now on, there will be a quote for every chapter.**

**:)**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	4. Secrets and Entropy

After her violent outburst which was provoked by Loki's daunting, explicit words, Cordelia was forced to remain in her chamber for another two days. It sucked, as she hadn't even gotten the chance to shower while she was in the bathing room, and it especially sucked, because she wasn't allowed to shower _now. _

What a goddamn fucking _asshole. _Cordelia could not believe her 'luck'- she managed to encounter the disowned God of Mischief while barely clothed. She knew that her assets were on full display for his greedy, groping eyes, but she did not want to give off the impression that she was embarrassed, like some blushing nymph. So, therefore, she decided that if he wanted to stare, then power to him. No fucks were given at that point in time. But _then, _he had gotten entirely too touchy-feely for her taste, initiating a conversation when it was not appropriate at all, trying to get her to remember him.

Of course, she did remember him; she was not an amnesiac, or one of those ditsy, brain-dead girls that were ubiquitous in the universe. She, at first, thought that the Auxilium had slipped some sort of hallucinogen into her food, and that the vision of Loki was the result of some horrific side effect. But then she realized that it was really him, the same haughty and tormented prince she had once met, so long ago. She could not believe it. Out of all of the places on Earth, _he _happened to be _here_? This was the Allfather's idea of a suitable punishment for Loki? Of course, she did not know the inner components of the transaction. But, she planned to find out either way.

Yes, she was curious. But, she was also, well, quite mortified that she had run into him. Her exile had been well-known throughout Asgard, although not as shocking as Loki's, obviously, considering that he was the son of the king, and she was just from one of the many noble families. After the prosecution that diminished her to the lowly stature of a human, she was dumped in Midgard, and while, not happy living amongst the humans, she felt relieved from the perils of Asgard. Not perils, exactly, but _rules- _rules that were entirely too strict, and sought to create an everlasting misery. Since being deployed to Earth, she felt that she'd never run into an Asgardian ever again.

Loki was sentenced to Muspelheim, which honestly, invoked one feeling which she rarely ever felt:pity.

She learned of his true lineage, through the rumor mill constantly circulating around Asgard (the aristocracy never failed to impress with its child-like cattiness). Frost giants, as indicated by the name, thrived in cold environments, and, if they were exposed to great amounts of heat at a certain guaranteed time...Loki's exile to Muspelheim was downright cruel, as it was the hottest planet in all of the nine realms. She could not even fathom how torturous the punishment must have truly been.

The last time she'd seen him was before he had destroyed the bifrost. He had looked healthy, strong, well-fit. But now, as she had seen him almost violently approach her by the pool, he looked haggard, and exhausted, like he hadn't slept or eaten a bite of food in months. She was almost worried, but did not know why- he held no sentimental value to her. No one did. Friendships were not even a thing of the past for her, and she should not try to create them now, especially with Loki.

She was a damaged soul, she knew that, although she didn't like to acknowledge that- and so was he. It was not healthy for her. But fuck, she was a horrible judge on what was 'healthy' for her. She could write a book on all of the misdemeanors she had concocted, all of the caustic remarks that had been spat from her mouth, at times when she should've been taciturn.

And, seeing him, roused a whole range of emotions that she did not want to deal with. She, while disgusted by the thought that she was forced to deal with another Asgardian, had been, well, comforted...very slightly. She was finally encountering someone from back 'home', a familiar face out of the sea of perfect strangers.

Now, thinking about all of this, she wasn't entirely sure why she had been so dismissive. And her self-doubt terrified her: she rarely regretted her own decisions and remarks, even though she'd ended up being churned into the meatgrinder of Asgardian justice due to it, but, she slightly regretted being so, well, _cold. _What was the risk of her talking to him?

Well, apart from the fact that he was crazy as hell...

But so was she.

Excuses, excuses again. She had decided that it was best for them not to talk, and, she had told him she hated him yesterday, in a calm way, so that he would think that she meant it, and that it wasn't spitfire thrown out in the heat of the moment. However, she wasn't sure if he truly believed her, or if he would give up.

Both of them could tell lies quite easily.

It was not a good idea, and she should remember that- not try to create comparisons between her and Loki. Besides, _he _had forced her to bed rest in her goddamn room for TWO WHOLE NIGHTS. It smelled like mothballs, and there was no entertainment, apart from the TV, which held no interest for her. She vacillated through the various channels, but it was pretty much futile, as it only had about five. Five! She used to watch football in pubs, which she actually enjoyed, although it confused her on why women never played.

Cordelia thought that if a team of angry, PMSing women were allowed to play football, not only would they win the game, but possibly conquer the world as well. Just thoughts.

Still, though, she loved her ESPN, and that was a channel the Auxilium had decided not to display. And why? Why was MTV more important than sports? She wished she knew the answer.

She heard a knock on the door, and, rolling her eyes, got off her bed, and walked over to open it, revealing the sullen-faced guard that was always stationed by her room.

"Miss, we have received orders for you to head to the Office," the guard said, blinking twice, slowly.

"Why?" Cordelia asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Doesn't say. I will escort you." He grabbed her arm, which she yanked out of his grip immediately.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, shooting the guard a despicable glare. He ignored her facial expressions, as per usual, and directed her to the Office; the same building where she had spoken to Fury last.

Would she have to speak to him again?!

Her question was quickly answered, as she was swept into the office, which was occupied solely by Fury; the receptionists that normally inhabited the desks were gone. As she looked behind her, she realized that the guard that had led her here had also mysteriously evaporated.

"Miss. Cordelia," Fury stated, nodding at her. She did not offer a greeting in return.

He beckoned her to follow him with a curled movement of his fingers, to a cubicle in the back of the Office, bordered by gray walls. There was a wooden desk accompanied by two chairs, and Fury gestured to Cordelia to occupy one of them, while he sat in the other.

"Now, Cordelia," Fury said, leaning his elbows on the desk, and looping his fingers together, "Do you know why you're here? I feel like you might."

Cordelia did not feel like being interrogated by this man once again, and hoped that if she remained mute, he would eventually give up and leave her alone. That's all she wanted, anyway- to be left _alone, _for fuck's sake.

"I will personally sit here all night for the rest of the week, hell, for the rest of the _month_, until you open your mouth and respond to me. You think you're being all cute and defiant, but in fact, it's quite damn annoying. You forget that we have power over you here, and we can easily lock you back up in your room," Fury said, a dour expression on his face.

Cordelia crossed her arms, seemingly impassive. She would not bend to Fury. She would not become one of his puppets, like all of the Shield agents working for him. They probably did not even _know _what Fury represented. They just cared about their fat paycheck that was slapped in their hands, spent frivolously on trivial things. Everything was about money.

Ever since she had arrived on Midgard, quite ceremoniously, mind you- Shield had been up on her ass, trying to covertly send not so covert messages to Cordelia, asking her to arrive at Shield headquarters so they could 'talk.' Cordelia knew that Earth was completely oblivious to all forms of life for quite some time- every other realm was quite educated in terms of that. Only Earth was not in the know. Their attention to the 'extraterrestrials' as they had put it, was sparked by Thor's arrival on Earth, and had been increasingly fearful, since. Of course, Loki's attempt to subjugate and enslave the peoples probably did not help the aliens' reputation.

She understood that people were curious, but she was not about to become a part of a scientific experiment. She'd watched a plethora of alien movies produced, and nearly all of them involved these grotesque creatures, who were either evil, or misunderstood, and were always mistreated. Of course, she could not even think of herself as an 'alien'- 'aliens' had a bad connotation, and, they were pictured as these disgusting, downright ugly creatures.

In short, she would not, and could not be cooperative with someone who'd take great pleasure out of tearing her apart, limb by limb, to see what information they could extract out of her, to pick at her insides, and run tests on her blood, torturing her until she gave them what they needed to hear. They would not employ humane tactics with her, because she wasn't human. She had to accept that Shield's ruse of 'helping her' would soon dissipate, and she'd have to face the grim reality: they'd kill her, or mutilate her, to quench any burning questions they had about her race.

Fury's head tilted to the side, and he peered at Cordelia. "You look like you're going to pass out."

Cordelia shrugged, and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. She realized that she had been sweating in copious amounts, a direct result from all of the paranoid thoughts floating in her brain.

"We're not here to hurt you, Cordelia. I just want to ask you a few simple questions."

When she still didn't reply, Fury eased out of his chair, and stood up.

"Stay here," he ordered, and left the cubicle.

He returned a few minutes later, toting a white paper bag, which he promptly placed on the desk.

Cordelia flattened against the back of the chair, her hands gripping the armrests so tightly, her knuckles were stark white.

"Calm down, they're just donuts," Fury said, opening the bag to reveal two Boston creme donuts, and two glazed donuts. "I got them during my lunch break today."

Cordelia glared at the pastries, which were meant as a peace offering. She saw them instead as drug-fueled food to try to get her to talk.

"Look, I'll eat one," Fury said, and took a bite out of the glazed donut. "Quite delicious, if I may say so myself."

Cordelia, after much regarding, finally decided to take one. She bit into a Boston creme one, cautiously, but then forgot all of her previous suspicions, and wolfed the entire thing down, cream smearing on her chin.

"You act like you haven't eaten in ages," Fury said, handing her a napkin. "Have we been feeding you okay?"

"Mmph," Cordelia replied, her statement muzzled. When she was finished, she sucked the remainder of chocolate frosting off of her thumb, and wiped her mouth.

"Now," said Fury, "I just want to ask you a question, okay?"

Cordelia nodded.

"Did you hit Loki?"

"Yes," she said, honestly.

"I understanding he was bothering you?" he said.

"I guess," she said.

"Now, you two are both from Asgard, correct?"

"Yeah."

"You guys have some history?"

"No."

"No?"

"That's what I said."

"You think you could...try to resolve this?"

"Why?" Cordelia asked, once again, quite suspicious of Fury's intentions.

"I believe that Loki's here not to just 'improve his mindset' but fuck things up more. And, I think that you might be able to stop him," Fury said, reclining back in his chair.

"Are you serious?!" Cordelia said, incredulous.

"I actually had some, uh, negotiations with people from Asgard, who told me that Loki would be coming to Earth as a human, and that he needed some 'help.' Kind of fucking weird, I mean, but, regardless, he's in the Auxilium. And, I feel that once he gets into the loop of everyday schedule, he may have some trouble adjusting. In short, I want you to help him out."

"You think I _won't?_ You think _I_ can _help someone?! _Who do I look like to you, doctor fucking Phil?!" Cordelia gasped, letting out a burst of almost maniacal laughter.

"I'm not asking you to be his psychoanalyst. I'm saying, you knew him once before. If you help him, he would be able to trust you. It'd be nice if you could...look, Cordelia, I know you're not a bad kid, just-"

"Then why am I locked up here?"

"You're wreaking havoc. You're destructive. And, you have no place to go."

"So, you lock me up in an asylum?!"

"You need help."

"I THINK I CAN DETERMINE WHAT I NEED, NOT ANYONE ELSE!" Cordelia screamed, standing abruptly, slapping her palms on the desk.

Fury didn't even flinch. "Please, sit back down."

Cordelia let out two exasperated breaths, and then, with a last torturous glance at Fury, slammed back down in her seat in a sloppy pose.

"We want you to try to see what Loki's motives may be. I think you could be quite beneficial to Shield-"

That did it.

"I'm not your goddamn spy, I'm not one of _them_," Cordelia spat, shaking.

A series of chirps rang out through the area. Fury pulled out his cell phone from his pocket, and glanced at the screen. "You know what, we'll have to talk later, maybe when you're not so recalcitrant."

With a huff, Cordelia was up, and out of the office, escorted back to her 'room' by the same guard.

* * *

"So...first, you'll head to the lobby room, where the residents sit together, and play games, such a chess, checkers, Scrabble, Monopoly...et cetera. Next, you'll have calisthenics. After that, you'll have free time. You have the first lunch wave. After lunch, is movie session, and then, you'll have talk with your own specified therapist. Then..." the insipid woman mooed on and on about the banal schedule of the Auxilium, failing to entertain Loki in entirety.

Truth be told, Loki did not know why Helen, one of the people of the pairing which felt an incessant need to guide him everywhere, insisted on reading the printed schedule verbatim to him. He was not an illiterate fool. But nevertheless, she had intruded upon his nap, one out of many that he had taken in his past two days of bed rest, insisting that he know "the business around heeyah." At first, after the violent attack Cordelia bestowed upon him, he thought she would be the only one to suffer the two day punishment, but, it was inflicted upon him as well.

Anyways, Helen had sauntered into his room, and had begun to read the schedule in a coddling, pretentious voice, as though Loki was a small child. He had never been talked to that way; even Odin had held some slim degree of respect. Loki knew that even in his human form, he could easily murder Helen- he had a good foot on her height, and, he probably weighed more than her, as he gauged her figure, even though she was quite plump. He was lithe, and could very easily snap her neck.

"Do you have any questions?" Helen asked, blinking her dull cow-like eyes at Loki, slowly.

"No," Loki replied, his teeth gritted. He had acquired a throbbing headache after listening to the idiot moan on and on about the different types of silverware the Auxilium cafeteria owned.

"Very good! You're an excellent student. I think you'll really like it here," Helen said, as though it was a new school, or new town he was living in. Well yes, he was living in a new town, per se, but it didn't matter because he was locked up in a crazy home.

Later that day, Loki was finally granted the privilege of taking a shower. He was escorted, as usual, to the bathing rooms, which were conveniently devoid of any people. A bit odd, but Loki was quite grateful. In the shower rooms, were four separate stalls, each shielded with a transparent curtain. Loki, after staring furiously at the curtain, wondered why Shield couldn't fucking choose a material that wasn't, oh, he didn't know, NOT SEE-THROUGH?

Whatever. The only person occupying the room was him, anyway.

In the shower was rose scented shampoo, which caused Loki's lip to curl in disgust. There was also a woman's razor, a hot pink bath sponge, and a lilac scented soap bar. Obviously, a feminine being had occupied the stall before him. He cringed at the idea that he'd smell like he had walked into a perfumery, but he'd rather smell slightly...womanly, than smell as if he had been locked in the cargo department of a fishing boat.

After washing, he noticed that there were no towels located anywhere, much to his immense aggravation, and he was forced to tug on his clothes, which instantly became sopping wet, and clung to his skin quite unpleasantly.

That evening sucked majorly for Loki, and he went to be bed quite discontent.

The next morning, he was quite anxious, and apprehensive, to have to be around the company of people dubbed as 'mentally ill.' However, he had these same suspicions before entering the lunch wave, and it ended up to be alright. He even met somebody who was kind to him.

He hoped that he would be left alone, for the most part.

Helen and the unnamed man fetched Loki at an ungodly hour of the day, almost dragging him down to the games lobby. It was not the actual lobby of the Auxilium, but it was called this for some strange reason.

"I think you'll really like it here," Helen chirped once more.

Loki wondered how far he could bend her neck back before it broke.

At the double doors leading to the game room, Loki stopped, his hand resting above the nob, clenching his eyes shut. He wished that this was some awful nightmare, and that he'd wake up any moment now. However, a tap on the shoulder delivered by that wench, Helen, jolted him back to reality, and he wrenched the door open, stepping inside.

It was quiet, as it was before. Some people were sitting together, playing games, others sat on the gargantuan square carpet slapped in the middle of the floor, others just simply walked around the perimeter, their eyes dreamy and unfocused.

Helen and the man left Loki to his own devices, thankfully. He looked to his right, and suddenly, an elvish grin appeared on his face.

Cordelia was sitting at a table by herself, moving a red checker piece in a circular fashion around the board, her head propped on her unoccupied hand. She sat slumped in the chair, her ankles cross. Loki began to walk towards her, smirking. He turned back to briefly glance at the guards monitoring the room; they did not appear to want to exact defenestration upon him, so, he figured that his mission in speaking to the girl would not be curtailed. Of course, there was a ninety nine percent chance that talking to Cordelia would go incredibly awry. Okay, one-hundred percent.

Loki thought it would be quite amusing to bother her, or...well, he wanted to talk to her in any case, because she was intriguing to him, and also, she ignored him. It seemed quite absurd to say out loud: "I want to pursue her more because she's ignoring me." But, her nonchalance attitude towards him gave him a challenge that he wanted to act upon. There was a slim opportunity for entertainment here: pestering Cordelia, or watching TV. He classified television as "entertainment" fit for nincompoops, and he could not bother anyone else here at the hospital because he did not know them, and they did not interest him in any way, shape, or form. He met Bea, but he didn't want to bother her because she aided him, and she actually talked to him, _unlike _a certain someone. He knew for sure Cordelia wasn't too crazy. He thought. She didn't really seem all there in the bathing rooms, but whatever. He'd take his chances.

However, he made a mental agreement with himself to apologize to Cordelia first, so that she'd actually talk to him, and not slap him...again.

She did not notice his approach, her head still bent over the checkerboard. He swung into the seat opposite of her.

"So nice to see you again, Cordelia. You look like you're having a splendid time, what with playing checkers by yourself," Loki said, grinning.

Her fingers twitched, dropping the piece she had been holding. Her head shot up, her eyes widened in outrage. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed.

"You know, your diction has become quite Midgardian," Loki said. "That's depressing."

"I apologize for my transactions, your highness, how else may I please you today?" Cordelia snapped, rolling back into the Asgardian way of speaking.

"Why so hostile?" Loki said, leaning forward.

"You sent me to bed rest for _two days," _she said, abruptly leaning backwards.

"I was forced to endure that as well," Loki pointed out.

"I do not care. You pissed me off," she said, fiddling with a checker piece.

"I was simply trying to say hello. Your reaction was completely unnecessary."

"You were staring at my tits."

"I am a heterosexual male, and your shirt was completely translucent. You have to give me credit, I eventually succeeded in keeping eye contact."

"For, like, twenty seconds."

"No, not true. You're grossly exaggerating this."

"Why are you so obsessed with me?" Cordelia groaned, slamming her palms down onto the game board.

"I am not. You're just great fun," Loki said, grinning.

"Why can't you bother some other bitch?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"Because I know you."

"No, you don't."

"You're from my planet, and you're not a pesky mortal."

"In this body I am, and so are you, Einstein."

"You know what, fine, I actually do have underlying reasoning for trying to contact you," Loki whispered, hoping that whatever he was about to say next would not be detected by eavesdroppers.

"Oh, really?" Cordelia replied, raising an eyebrow.

Loki beckoned with a finger for her to come closer, and she did so, reluctantly.

He positioned his mouth by her ear, and said, "I know Shield wants to use you as their puppet because you have an admirable set of skills. I also know that you'd never join them, would you?" His eyes darted sideways; the guards were talking, and not paying attention at all.

She was quiet for a moment, and then said, "You seem mighty sure of yourself."

"Just in that aspect. I know that you'd never want a corrupt, blasphemous organization in control of you. You don't want anyone in control of you. That's why you hate your father," he continued.

He suddenly realized that he had crossed a line, as she had pulled away sharply, and began the process of leaving the table. He latched onto her wrist, as she tried to tug herself away from him.

"Please," he said, "I...I just want your help."

She stopped struggling, her face inscrutable. "My help. You want my help."

"...yes."

"Why? What can I possibly do for you?" she said, sitting back down. "You and I, we're in the exact same boat."

"A boat? We're in a hospital," he said, furrowing his brow.

"It's an expression," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Anyway, I want to leave, and I know you want to leave," Loki said.

"Yes, but if we do leave, where would we go? There's no legal way for us to get back into Asgard, and if we do end up back there, we'll still be in a hostile environment," she reasoned.

"We could go to Alfheim," Loki said.

"Okay, but how could we even get there? Heimdall is on orders not to let us use the bifrost, and you don't have your magic," she said.

"We'll figure out something," Loki insisted, "I just cannot be here anymore."

"I feel that way too. I'm sure everyone here does," she said, gesturing around the room.

A bell suddenly rang out in the room, signaling that their game time was over.

"We need to talk more on this subject," Loki said.

"It's kind of hard to, here," she said.

"We'll figure out something."

"If you say so."

Loki watched her walk away, her hands clasped behind her back. As he was received by Helen once more, she began a rapid conversation with him, again.

"You know what...we're having a masquerade ball here, on Friday! It will be so fun, oh, I'm so excited..."

Loki suddenly knew how'd he be able to talk to Cordelia. Disguises were quite convenient for clandestine actions.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**When I wrote the 'Why are you so obsessed with me' line, I immediately thought of the Mariah Carey song. Just me, or?**

**The masquerade ball probably doesn't make sense considering they're in a mental home, but I hope it makes sense in the next chapter, where its intentions will be explained.**

**Also, Loki and Cordelia have unknowingly bonded over a mutual incentive. ;)**

**Thank you to DarlingDeathMachine for reviewing! You're awesome.**

**To the few people who have added me to their alert list, you're awesome as well.**

**I love reviews, so be free to leave 'em! :)**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


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